Chapter Twenty
Spencer
Is this how addicts feel?
I’ve never done more than smoke a joint and that was half a life ago, before I decided to work for the city as an EMT.
Because of frequent and random drug tests, I decided early on that keeping my job was more important than zoning out.
Not to mention eating everything out of my fridge or pantry.
Definitely the pantry because who doesn’t have the munchies for those incredibly unhealthy orange corn puffs? Nobody, that’s who.
Grinder’s my Cheeto. There, I said it. I have the munchies and the only thing I can think about is licking him off my fingers.
Good God, I’m driving my rig and I’m hard just thinking about it. It needs to stop. There are more important things happening that need my immediate attention and thinking about Grinder and my tongue in the same sentence won’t get my priorities straight.
For two weeks, I’ve been avoiding that damn clubhouse because I’m on a bad boy diet. That being said, I won’t deny my body’s reaction to him every time he steps into a room or even just the thought that we’re about to be close enough for me to inhale the scent of him.
This whole time apart, I’ve had to sneak around with Kincaid for her visits and so far, it’s been a success. Nobody’s seen me at the compound and word about Kincaid’s cancer hasn’t reached anyone’s ears.
So much drama and pain, it’s exhausting. However, I made a promise to be there for Kincaid and as tired as I feel, I’m a man of my word.
Being at work is the only reprieve I get and Salem is the perfect distraction for my problems. Although, with the misery and broken lives that I see every day, it’s selfish of me to consider my situation as a problem.
It’s more of a conundrum. As for Kincaid, it’s a fallacy.
Someone as strong and private as she is should be immune to any and all diseases.
Unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way.
“Shift’s over in an hour, hopefully we won’t get any more calls.” Salem has been quiet all night so her comment startles me. Not to mention that I’ve been deep inside my own head, as well. She’s barely talked, which is odd considering she’s a chatter box if I’ve ever seen—or heard—one.
“Fingers crossed.” I make the gesture just in case she doesn’t know what crossing fingers looks like.
I’m smooth like that. “Oh, I heard Bryson is making a paella.” I look over at Salem, who usually wakes right up at even the hint of good food.
I won’t be staying for dinner since I’ll be heading straight to oncology after my shift.
“That sounds delicious. But isn’t that your thing?” Her enthusiasm is about as compelling as a fifteen year old going to school at seven thirty in the morning.
“All right. Enough. I haven’t said anything because I figured if you wanted to talk about it, you’d tell me, but we can’t work well together if you’re shutting me out the entire shift.
” I keep glancing over at her during my rant, but I’m also trying not to run a red light without our siren on.
“Also, I don’t own paella night. If Bryson wants to make one, he’s welcome to do so.
” His ego will probably take a hit, though.
Mine is the best and there’s nothing he can do to change that.
Salem’s just old enough to drink by two birthdays, and when she groans and throws her head back, I’m reminded of our age difference.
“I thought getting a steady job”—she turns and points an accusing finger at me—“with overtime, would mean financial freedom. I love my parents, but holy shit, I’m ready to get my own apartment.
Except I can’t find anything I can afford.
The only hit I got was a three bedroom on College Rd.
with two other guys as roommates. No thank you, I’d rather live in a cave with a bear. ”
Nodding at her wise decision, I can’t help but wonder how a parent would react to their young daughter, albeit an adult, living with two men she doesn’t know. Then, for some inexplicable reason, my mind wanders off to Grinder, creating a mental image of him as a father.
My first reaction is to veer off my lane but I correct the trajectory quickly enough to avoid an accident. After that, I just frown and force myself to be present in this conversation without making everything about Grinder.
“The market is crazy right now. Just save your money while you’re at home. The more you save, the better your chances.” I’m one to talk. I moved out at eighteen.
“Look, my mother just shacked up with her new boyfriend. He’s great, don’t get me wrong, but they need their privacy.
” She mock vomits before clarifying. “And I do not need to hear my mother getting rammed against the bedroom wall.” She exaggerates a full-body shiver before slumping back into her seat.
Again, my brain swings right back to Grinder and the sheer number of women and men he’s fucked just since I’ve known him.
“Have you asked around the station?” A lot of the staff there actually room together.
“Yeah, the only one who lives alone is Bryson but he’s not interested in a roomie. To be fair, not only is he too hot for me to live with but he’s giving lowkey stalker vibes.” That’s a weird thing to say.
“Why do you think that?” The light turns green and I slowly drive through the evening traffic, grabbing my lukewarm coffee and taking a healthy sip.
“I’d use up all of my batteries on my toys.”
I spray-spit my drink all over the wheel and windshield, getting sugary coffee up my nose, which causes a coughing spree dangerous enough that I have to pull over at the nearest gas station.
“Oh my God, are you okay?” She starts smacking me on the back and I try to narrow my eyes—wet with a mixture of tears and coffee—at her while begging my lungs to grab onto air so my tombstone doesn’t read: “One coffee too many.”
“You’re an EMT. You should know”—cough cough cough—“slapping my back is totally useless.” Jesus, have I taught her nothing?
“Right, I know, but I feel like I should do something. I’m so sorry, Spence, I didn’t mean to shock you. I figured you hang out with real-life bikers—who, by the way, have a great fucking presence on the socials—so talking about sex is like…normal.”
Once I regain control of my breathing, I wipe my eyes with a tissue and rest my head back.
“Bitch, for the love of my sanity, never speak about…” I use my index finger as a wand and twirl it around her lower area from afar.
“That…if I have anything in my mouth.” Thank fuck she’s not Grinder or else that comment would be met with a salacious come back that would make me blush and horny.
Or maybe blush because he always makes me horny.
It doesn’t come out often but my gay is gaying its best gay-game because this woman needs to understand that some things should be spoken with care. Dildos and vibrators included.
“That’s what he said.” She giggles, and I’m seriously considering kicking her out of the rig and making her walk. Granted, the station is like ten minutes away on foot, but it’s the principle.
“No, Salem. The point is…when my mouth is full, he says nothing. He only moans. And anyway, I was asking about the stalker vibe.” Damn, that one was just too easy.
“On point!" She smirks, her fingers snapping like she’s a real life member of The Addam’s Family. “And as far as stalking? I don’t know. It’s his overall aura and they don’t lie.”
All I can do is stare at her and fight the small smile that wants to escape. There may be a small age gap between us but sometimes—often—it feels like we’re worlds apart. Or maybe I’m just getting old.
“Come on, you Gen Z freak. Let’s get back to the station and taste Bryson’s paella.” My mouth actually waters with my suggestion and any mention of weird feelings about him fly out of my mind. After all, even when it’s not perfect, it’s the perfect comfort food.
“Is that code for oral sex?” Jesus fucking Christ, someone put a muzzle on this one.
“Salem.” One word is all I need because my tone says it the rest.
“Fine. I won’t mention any more sexual activities.” My phone chirps and I see KD pop up but I don’t answer. It’s Kincaid, and if she’s calling me, that means something important is happening.
As we pull up the drive, Salem jumps out, clearly in a better mood so there’s that.
Bryson is doing some kind of pull up competition with another fireman so of course I watch.
He’s hot, that’s for sure, and I don’t get Salem’s perception of him.
All I see is abs for days and it occurs to me that even with all the hotness displayed right in front of me, I have no accelerated breathing, no fire in my belly, no problems with having to hide a hard-on.
Unfortunately, I’ve tasted Grinder. I’ve been touched and held by Grinder. Pursued for almost two years now. Even though nothing has been decided on my end, it’s clear my body has made its decision. Apparently, freezing him out for the last two weeks has no influence on my deep-rooted need for him.
My brain says stepping away is the right decision but the rest of me is too hung up to listen to reason.
I make a beeline for the office where I write my reports quickly before saying my goodbyes and heading straight to my car.
As per our plan, Kincaid rode her bike to my place and walked over to the station where she’s now leaning against my car, waiting.
“You’re late.” I grin at her dry tone, making a show of looking at my watch.
“By a minute.” More like three, to be honest.
“That’s one too many.” Standing straight, she holds out her hand and it’s only after I beep open my car that I realize she’s silently demanding my keys.
“You’re not driving.” I drop my bag into the trunk and when I slam it shut, she’s right there, glaring. “I’m serious, Caidy. You may be some kind of super human, but whether you’ll admit it or not, you’re distracted.”
The only thing our standoff is missing is a spaghetti western musical soundtrack and the moment would be perfect.